


Abstract

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Rope Bondage, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26251306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Even with the careful knots and the grip of ropes binding him more to an embrace than restraint, it’s only a few minutes before Seiichi begins to feel the tingling that presages a loss of sensation spreading across his forearms and down the flex of his calves." Yukimura volunteers his physical senses up to Sanada's keeping and reaps the rewards.
Relationships: Sanada Genichirou/Yukimura Seiichi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Abstract

Seiichi loses sensation first.

It takes some time. Genichirou was careful with the rope, gentle in the loops he wound across Seiichi’s chest and delicate even in the knots he used to fix Seiichi’s arms together at the small of his back, held apart by a length of soft cord from his ankles bound one atop the other and pulled back to keep his knees folded against the bed where he’s lying face-down across the sheets. Seiichi didn’t have to ask him to be gentle in the binding; rather he would have had to demand anything else, and even Genichirou’s obedience would have come with a grimace if he had. But Seiichi doesn’t need force, just intention, and even with the careful knots and the grip of ropes binding him more to an embrace than restraint it’s only a few minutes before he begins to feel the tingling that presages a loss of sensation spreading across his forearms and down the flex of his calves.

Seiichi doesn’t say anything. His face is turned at the pillow, his expression relaxed into patience; lying on his stomach as he is, the evidence of the arousal starting to pull a dull ache at his belly is entirely hidden from view. But even so:

“Yukimura,” and Genichirou’s hand is touching to his shoulder, his fingers drawing gently along the line of Seiichi’s bare skin. “Is it starting?”

“Mm,” Seiichi hums, and shifts his shoulder under Genichirou’s touch. The movement pulls against the lines of the rope laced across his chest; there is a spike of sensation that runs up one of his arms, a flash of heat against the numb spreading into the curl of his fingers and reaching up his forearms. “Yes, a little.”

Genichirou breathes out into a exhale that trembles in his throat. “I’ll untie you as soon as you want me to.”

Seiichi smiles against the pillow. “I know you will,” he says, and he shuts his eyes to let himself relax further against the sheets, to let his body go heavy as the sensation in his arms and legs prickles itself away from his grasp. “I don’t want you to.”

Genichirou doesn’t reply to that. He just keeps his hand at Seiichi’s shoulder, a point of contact to ground the other to his body, and for the time being Seiichi is grateful to that. It helps keep him fixed to the moment even as he loses sensation to the numbness that is spreading into his arms and legs, until the last of the electric tingling has passed and there is just the unresisting weight of his limbs, as heavy and insensate as if they belong to someone else.

Genichirou’s hand lifts from Seiichi’s shoulder. Seiichi thinks at first that he’s pulled away, that he’s moving aside; but then: “Can you feel that?” Genichirou asks, and Seiichi’s shoulders tense with the shudder of realization that finds him.

Seiichi opens his eyes to gaze at the far side of the room, to fix his vision steady as he takes stock of the sensation from his body. He can feel the ropes binding him in place, stripping him of his ability to move under his own power, can follow the line of his shoulders down his arms and feel his knees tilted open at the bed beneath him; but there is nothing at all from his elbows down, no sense of action when he tries to curl his fingers in.

He shakes his head. “No,” he says, and turns his head at the pillow to cast his gaze back over his shoulder. “Are you touching my arm?”

“Your ankle,” Genichirou says. Seiichi cranes his neck to see: Genichirou’s fingers are indeed wrapped around his ankle, his touch pressing just below the loops of white rope that are binding Seiichi’s foot up into its deliberate angle. Even looking right at it Seiichi can’t feel any kind of sensation; it’s as if he’s looking at someone else’s body, as if it is a complete stranger who has Genichirou’s fingers smoothing along their calf and drawing across the arch of their foot. Seiichi watches for a minute, disoriented and aroused in equal measure; and then Genichirou lifts his hand away, and Seiichi lets his head fall back to the pillow as he takes a breath.

“Blindfold me.”

Genichirou’s inhale comes quick, drawn hard against the tension in his chest. “Yukimura,” he says, sounding like a warning; but all he says is, “Already?”

Seiichi smiles and dips his head to a nod. “Please.”

It doesn’t take more than that. Genichirou’s weight shifts at the bed, his movement telegraphed through the ripple of the mattress as he draws back and away, and Seiichi lies still, feeling the dull threat of numbness hovering at his knees and elbows like it is thinking of reaching up into his thighs and upper arms. He wonders if he can draw it higher, if he can offer up a greater portion of his physical sensation to the bindings that would be uncomfortable if he could still feel them, but Genichirou is returning, and Seiichi’s attention is pulled away from his body and to the strip of dark fabric dangling from Genichirou’s hands as he leans back in over him.

Genichirou offers the blindfold without asking for confirmation. He catches the fabric between both hands, spreading the dark stripe between them as if he’s making an offering, and Seiichi lifts his head from the bed again to give Genichirou room to drape the fabric over his eyes and draw it taut. For a moment he can see the bed beneath him, the sheets rumpled by the weight of his body and the light illuminating his skin to perfect clarity for Genichirou’s gaze; and then the blindfold closes in, and Seiichi shuts his eyes in surrender to the enforced darkness that Genichirou binds around him.

The blindfold brings a sense of vulnerability as it narrows the confines of Seiichi’s world to the immediate reality of physical sensation and the uncertain hum of the sounds that echo from a greater distance. Seiichi can still hear the sound of Genichirou’s breathing, can feel the bed shift beneath him with the proof of the other’s movement; but the blindfold strips away the rest of the world, pushing away the fact of existence and leaving Seiichi with just the mattress under his body, the pillow beneath his head, and the man leaning over his bound form. He can’t pull free of the knots fixing his wrists back and his ankles up; even the awareness of his own body is limited, pushed back by the numbness that has stolen sensation from his arms and legs to narrow the field of his experience. Seiichi is confined, tied to his own physicality and with the borders of that inching in with every action Genichirou takes; and with every breath his arousal grows in time with the beat of his heart, adrenaline swelling him against the bed until Seiichi can feel himself catching at the sheets as his cock tugs against the resistance beneath it.

Genichirou is quiet behind him. With the removal of his sight sound is the only way left for Seiichi to gauge Genichirou’s actions with any warning at all, but Genichirou moves with near-silent grace. Seiichi might be able to hear the rustle of his clothes, if he were still wearing them; but he stripped his shirt before they began, and stepped free of his shorts after tightening the last knot on Seiichi’s wrists, and when Seiichi hears fabric rustle it is a dragging slide that says Genichirou is giving up the last of his own clothing to join the neat pile long since made of Seiichi’s. Seiichi’s darkened vision turns inward for a moment, sketching the image of Genichirou looking down at him from the edge of the bed with nothing but empty air between the heat of his body and that of Seiichi’s; and then the mattress moves and Seiichi’s imagination fractures, startling itself into a shocked exhale as Genichirou takes a position behind his knees.

“Yukimura.” Genichirou’s voice sounds darker, feels lower, without the softness of his gaze to unravel the depth of his tone to the tenderness it always has for Seiichi. With his vision gone Genichirou’s voice feels as insistent as the dull pulse of Seiichi’s arousal, an overriding force that dominates all other sensory input without even needing to make an effort to do so. There is movement at Seiichi’s back; he would guess there is a hand touching to his ankle, or fingers brushing against his forearm, contact smoothing over his body unsensed. The thought of Genichirou’s fingers drawing appreciation across his skin that Seiichi cannot track sends heat tremoring down Seiichi’s spine, flexing at his shoulders and tensing against his thighs before Genichirou’s hand drops as if called by the quiver in Seiichi’s legs. His palm rests at the inside line of Seiichi’s thigh, his hand heavy and warm with possessive ease before the slick of wet fingers draws up higher, following Seiichi’s bare skin up the strain of muscle in his thigh to find the weight of his arousal pressing hard to the bed. Genichirou’s fingers move over him, working between his legs to brush against his drawn-tight balls and sliding up, back, to draw a thumb across the clenching heat of his entrance; and then the mattress shifts, the bed speaking to the movement of Genichirou’s body before pressure comes at Seiichi’s back to push him down to the sheets, to fix him still against the upward slide of Genichirou’s finger stroking into him with unflinching grace.

Seiichi shudders at the bed, his body trembling with the relief that always follows the first moment of opening as Genichirou pushes into him. He can’t feel Genichirou’s bracing hold on what must be his arms bound one atop the other at the small of his back, but the weight of the other’s grip is clear in the force with which Seiichi is being pressed into the sheets, his body urged into the soft of the bed with twice the strength his weight alone would manage. It makes him feel languid, as if his numb limbs have doubled in mass to crush him to helplessness at the sheets, as if his strength is giving itself up to surrender rather than struggling against such an impossible burden as moving. His cock aches, throbbing heavy and full where it is pinned between his stomach and the sheets; and Genichirou’s touch moves, twisting as it pulls back before thrusting forward again to fill the involuntary clench of Seiichi’s body with the heat of his own. Seiichi hears his own voice in his ears, the leading edge of it breaking high on breathless want, and when his body quakes against the bed he lets the force of the heat ride through him, pouring up his throat and trembling through his thighs as his body pulses tension around Genichirou’s finger working into him.

Seiichi’s awareness of the world begins to narrow, pulling itself in close around him as Genichirou works him steadily open. He can still feel his chest, his breathing straining against the sheets beneath him, the dull throb of his cock protesting its abandonment while Genichirou’s fingers persuade his body into welcoming surrender, but his shoulders are aching with spreading numb, and there are pinpricks of heat traveling up his thighs to steal the sensation from those as well. It’s a function of his position, of his bound arms and legs and the involuntary tension fixing itself into his muscles; but with his eyes covered and his thoughts dizzy it feels as if Seiichi’s body is pulling in on itself, giving up the sensation in his limbs so it can heighten the stroke of fingers pulling inside him and the drag of silk-soft sheets at the head of his cock. Seiichi is tightening around Genichirou’s fingers, matching the rhythm of the other’s thrusts with the answering flex of his body, and his breathing is falling into alignment too, his whole body coordinating itself to the urging of Genichirou within him. Seiichi is throbbing with heat, his cock but also his chest, his lips, the inner spaces of him opening to Genichirou’s touch, and as his body tightens around the fixed point of Genichirou thrusting into him Seiichi seizes on a breath and spills words from his lips.

“Do it.”

Genichirou finishes out the movement of his hand, riding the rhythm of his thrusting fingers to press another stroke into Seiichi, to urge another huff of heat past Seiichi’s lips; but he slows as he draws back, the slick of his fingers pulling long as he withdraws his touch from Seiichi’s body. There is a press against Seiichi’s back, the weight of Genichirou’s hold carried to him through the unresponsive numb of his arms tied at his back, and then a shift in the bed beneath him, like a tide rippling through the world itself, or at least what of the world Seiichi is presently aware of. Seiichi lies still, lips parted on his breathing and eyes shut beneath the dark of his blindfold and cock throbbing the dull ache of want into the sheets, and then fingers brush along his ear to stroke against his hair. Genichirou’s touch traces the curve of Seiichi’s ear, smoothing against the waves of his hair as he pushes them back under the binding of the blindfold, and then there is a weight, the soft give of an earplug as Genichirou muffles Seiichi’s hearing. Seiichi draws a breath, his heart thudding faster as his sense of sound is restrained, but he doesn’t wait for the urging of Genichirou’s touch at his hair to turn his head to the side and offer his other ear. Genichirou’s fingers trail against his hair, pull gently at the curve of his ear, and then the other earplug is sliding into place, and Seiichi’s hearing retreats to the ocean-deep thud of his pulse pounding in his head. Genichirou pulls back, his touch drawing away, and Seiichi is left alone, drifting in the silent dark of his own self-imposed isolation.

He is lost almost at once. His sense of the world had already narrowed with the loss of his sight, his awareness pulled in to the range of what he could hear; with his hearing stripped it condenses to his immediate existence: the drag of his breathing gone silent in his chest, the thunder of his pulse at the inside of his ears, the slide of the sheets beneath him. He can’t feel his arms or his legs; with sight absent Seiichi can’t crane his neck to offer himself visual proof of his body, with his hearing gone he can’t hear the soft rustle of Genichirou moving through the room behind him. He is alone, caught within the confines of his own body where he can no more escape the ache of his desire than he can take action to soothe it; and then the world shifts, his body rocking on the wave of motion beneath him. A force presses down on him, pushing him harder into the spread of the sheets as Seiichi takes a breath he feels but cannot hear, and then there is pressure, resistance urging against him, and Seiichi lets his breath go in a soundless moan as a weight strokes forward to fill his body with its demand.

Seiichi is dizzy with his own restraint. He knows it must be Genichirou behind him, knows there must be the gentle certainty of hands bracing at his bound arms and numb leg as Genichirou’s hips work to fuck into him with long, heavy strokes; but his world is too narrow to allow for conscious awareness of reality, his senses too limited to give credence to the efforts of his imagination. His thoughts are limited by the span of his consciousness, his senses deliberately cut away until all he is left with is the drag of friction, heat at his skin and pressure inside his body, a surging wave of sensation so overwhelming he keeps tightening against the rhythmic pumping within him just as a means to keep himself bound to the present. It’s hard to identify the specifics of the action, difficult even to be sure it is Genichirou’s cock in place of his fingers or a toy pulsing so deep into him, but Seiichi is breathing harder, panting against the texture of the sheets clinging to his sweat-warm body as he trembles with the tide of arousal washing in and over him.

There is a sharp jolt, a press of straining heat, and Seiichi jerks, his lips parting and throat humming with a  _ Genichirou _ that falls short of his hearing. He can feel the sound without hearing it, the heat of it pouring out through the hum in his chest, and once voiced another follows it, the relief of giving speech to the rising tension in him stripped of any self-consciousness for the sound of the moan he can feel breaking away from the edge of audibility as it jumps in his throat. Seiichi’s shoulders flex, pulling against the numb weight of the arms heavy at his back until his thighs prickle with the pull at his far-distant ankles, and beneath him the mattress shifts, accommodating his weight as the force inside him matches the rhythm of his heartbeat. He can’t track time, his sense of seconds is failing him in the dark silence drowning him in arousal; but his heart is pounding in his chest, racing on greater speed with every inhale, and the thrusting friction within him is keeping time with his breathing, stirring his body to answering heat with every action it takes.

Seiichi’s senses are narrowing further, tightening in from his numb fingers and toes to clench around the knot of heat in his belly. His breathing is distant, the rasp of vibration in his throat a far-off detail: all his focus is on the heartbeat-throb of heat in him, the rush of it pulsing in his cock and tight at his balls in answer to each stroking thrust filling him. Seiichi is shaking, his body trembling precipice-tight where he is fixed to the bed and bound by his own choice, and then the force pulsing inside him jolts forward, and his jaw softens on a moan that drains all the air from his lungs. His head arches back, his thighs flex taut, and at the bed his cock jumps, twitching against the mattress as Seiichi spends his orgasm into pulsing waves of release. His mouth is open but he can’t hear the sound in his throat, can’t parse the endless groan he can feel pouring heat up his chest and past his lips; all Seiichi can do is shudder against the bed, his body quaking with convulsive strength as pleasure is drawn up and out of him.

The heat eclipses his consciousness, after that. The first rush of sensation recedes, melting into languid satisfaction that softens Seiichi’s shoulders and drops him heavy to the bed, but his heartbeat is still pounding deafening force at his ears and the rhythm inside him is unflinching. Seiichi breathes open-mouthed at the sheets, his thoughts disintegrated by pleasure and spilling wide-open around the unceasing pressure pumping inside him, and the heat of it keeps him heavy at the bed, his body slack and voice breathless as his orgasm unfolds beyond all awareness of time passing. There is no time, there is no world, there is nothing but the rhythm guiding his breathing as it fixes his body beneath it, and Seiichi gives himself wholly up to its keeping. His body is distant, his self is dissolved; there is just the heat, and the movement, and the endless tremors of sensation disintegrating him into one perfect unity of satisfaction. He is carried forward by the thrust of heat inside him, the speed following the thunder of the pulse that is drowning out the clarity of his very thoughts; and then the rhythm stammers, breaking into a stuttered half-beat, and Seiichi’s breath catches in time with it. There is one more thrust, one more surge of pressure within him; and then a greater heat, as another rush of pleasure fills the tremor of his own. Seiichi can’t move, see, hear; but he still sighs, satisfaction at his lips to fit itself to the breathing he can’t hear rasping in Genichirou’s chest.

They are still like that for a long moment, Seiichi heavy at the sheets and Genichirou still hard inside him. Then the bed shifts, the mattress telegraphing Genichirou’s intention before it is done, and Seiichi feels the strain inside him pull back, easing free of the grip of his body to separate them once more. He tightens reflexively, his body answering the slide of the heat inside him, and then it is gone and Seiichi is left with just the lingering pleasure in his own form. He lies still, wrapped in darkness and feeling the gasp of his breathing draw the silence long around him; and then there is a touch at his hair, a hand brushing against his ear, and sounds rush back into the world as the earplug comes free. For a moment everything is hyper-clear, the soft rustle of the sheets and the gasp of his own breathing as loud as a shout, and Seiichi doesn’t speak as he turns his head to offer the return of hearing to his other ear. The blindfold is next, as he listens to the soft sound of fingers drawing through his hair to unclasp the knot at the back of his head, and as the fabric falls free Seiichi keeps his eyes shut for a moment, waiting for the first shock of light against his eyelids to ease before he lets illumination steal past his lashes and return the world to his vision. There is sensation, too, touch sliding through his hair and smoothing along the surrendering flex of his tied-back shoulders, and for the first moment of return Seiichi lets himself be overcome, lets the details of existence rush him through the first overwhelming breaths of renewed reality.

The hands at his shoulders drop down, smoothing along his sides and beneath the insensate weight of his arms bound together at his back. Seiichi can feel the pattern of Genichirou’s fingerprints, the weight of calluses drawing gentle friction as they slip across his skin. The familiarity of the contact eases the tension from his body, relaxing him heavy and slack across the bed as Genichirou’s palms map the line of his waist and come out to bracket at his hips.

“Yukimura.” Genichirou’s fingers tighten, his thumbs sliding to caress against Seiichi’s skin. “Are you ready?”

Seiichi takes another breath to savor the present: the glow of warmth under his skin, the heavy weight of satisfaction stretching into his body. There is nothing to do, no action to take, no motion he can make: there is just the work of his breathing, and Genichirou’s hands at his hips, and the lingering pulse of pleasure thrumming through the core of his body. He lets the stillness settle into him, pooling to a bone-deep calm at the center of himself; and then he opens his eyes to let the world back in, and ducks his head into a nod.

“Yes.” He works his shoulders to ease the slack strain across his forearms and urge his numb wrists closer together. “Untie me.”

Genichirou moves at once. His hands come up Seiichi’s body, fingertips mapping his sides and skipping up to the flex of his drawn-back shoulders; Seiichi can track the line of his own sensation under Genichirou’s touch, can find the point where it tapers off to secondhand pressure against his back instead of immediate responsiveness from his skin. That lingers for a long minute, the dull weight of his arms against his back shifting as Genichirou works over the knot; and then the restraint holding his shoulders loosens, and Seiichi’s arms fall slack and heavy across the small of his back. Seiichi takes a breath like that, with his shoulders still angled back and his arms keeping their position via their own weight; then Genichirou’s fingers slide between his back and the arm pressing to it to lift up and lay first one arm and then the other flat at the mattress at Seiichi’s sides. Seiichi tips his chin down to look at his arm, distanced strangely from his awareness by its lack of sensation, but he doesn’t try to work his fingers or flex his wrist as Genichirou frees the bindings wrapping his ankles and unfolds his knees to lay them flat across the sheets in turn. Seiichi stays still, as motionless now as when his inaction was enforced, and even when Genichirou comes across the bed to kneel alongside him he doesn’t lift his arm to offer the first sparks of returning sensation to the other.

He doesn’t need to. Genichirou reaches for his wrist immediately, wrapping his fingers around Seiichi’s arm and drawing it carefully up and out, and Seiichi shuts his eyes so he can better focus on the prickle of feeling sparking out under his skin as it reaches along his arm and towards his fingers. Genichirou’s touch braces against his skin, his fingers cradling Seiichi’s arm and his thumbs working gentle pressure before them, and as he works the sparking force of returning feeling along the other’s arm Seiichi keeps his eyes shut, and his shoulders relaxed, and breathes deep through the sensation returning to his limb as it builds from ticklish to sharp to painful excess. It would be blinding if he were alone, Seiichi thinks; but Genichirou’s hands are steady on him, their grip fixing him still with focused intent even against the sensation surging intensity through him, and Seiichi gives himself up to the press of those hands and the work of his breath coming deliberately in his chest.

Genichirou continues. His thumbs work along Seiichi’s arm, moving across his elbow and down his forearm and sliding out along each finger individually as Seiichi shivers with returning feeling. It’s only once Seiichi’s skin is flushed warm with sensation and he’s curling his fingers into easy motion that Genichirou moves to the other arm, where the pinpricks of receding numbness are just beginning to spark under Seiichi’s skin. The distance recedes under his touch, Seiichi’s sense of his other hand returning beneath the press of Genichirou’s palms, and by the time that’s done his legs are shaking, the muscles in his thighs and calves flexing involuntarily with the threat of cramps.

Genichirou takes them both together, digging in the heels of his palms into Seiichi’s legs and sliding down in a long pull of sensation that makes Seiichi gasp against the sheets before Genichirou turns his attention to first one and then the other, leaning in and pressing down to steady Seiichi’s body beneath the full strength of his own. Seiichi’s legs flex against the weight, his body spending its involuntary strain beneath the steadying grip of Genichirou’s hands before the tension has passed and Seiichi can go slack over the bed. Genichirou’s hands slide along his ankles, his fingers sweeping out to smooth across the arches of his feet, and Seiichi sighs a long exhale and lifts his arms so he can push himself up from the bed and onto his elbows. His shoulders prickle, sensation running up against his skin like it’s stretching out into the newly restored space of his body, and Genichirou’s hands slide back up to press at his ankles.

“Yukimura.” Genichirou’s voice is low, purring deep with the same deliberate care that he turned to the knots that held Seiichi bound and to easing feeling back into his numb arms and legs. Seiichi can feel Genichirou’s attention lingering against him, but the touch at his ankles doesn’t slide up to reach for anything more. “Are you well?”

Seiichi smiles at Genichirou’s phrasing even before he turns his head to look back over his shoulder at the other kneeling at the bed alongside him. “I am,” he says, and he turns in against the support of one elbow so he can reach out for Genichirou’s touch lingering against him. Genichirou gives way to Seiichi’s hold, allowing his hand to be drawn away from the other’s ankle without protest, and Seiichi draws him in, pulling to urge Genichirou closer as he turns over to lie at his side across the sheets. Genichirou follows the suggestion of Seiichi’s hold, leaning down in obedience to Seiichi’s tug at his arm, and as he draws closer Seiichi twists to fall onto his back across the sheets and reach up to catch his other hand into the dark fall of Genichirou’s hair. Genichirou lands at the bed alongside him, the length of his body matching to the languid ease of Seiichi’s, and Seiichi beams up at him and lifts both hands to cradle Genichirou’s head between the span of his fingers. “Thank you, Sanada.”

Genichirou’s lashes dip over the steady focus of his gaze, his head tips forward into a nod. “Of course,” he says. “I’m glad to do anything you want, Yukimura.”

Seiichi smiles. “I appreciate it,” he says. He pushes his hands farther into Genichirou’s hair, winding his fingers into the tumbled dark of the locks. Genichirou ducks his head farther forward, bowing into surrender to Seiichi’s touch as his lashes flutter on responsive weight, and Seiichi’s mouth curves up as he draws his hands around to cradle Genichirou’s head between them.

“I appreciate you, too,” he says, speaking soft into the space between them. Genichirou doesn’t answer aloud, doesn’t lift his head from its forward tilt, but his shoulders ease as Seiichi’s lips brush his forehead, and Seiichi can feel the heat of the other’s exhale as Genichirou’s hand comes out to settle at his waist. Seiichi draws Genichirou closer, pulling the other in against him as he curves his back to meet the other’s touch, and when Genichirou’s head lifts Seiichi is waiting for him. Genichirou’s lashes shift, his gaze brushing over Seiichi’s face, and Seiichi smiles, and slides his fingers into Genichirou’s hair, and draws him in to the warmth of a kiss.

When Seiichi shuts his eyes, he hardly even notices the dark for the radiance of his body.


End file.
